


If Things Were Different

by gwennolmarie



Series: Lifeline, Lifeblood [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blood Drinking, Blue Balls, Dubious Consent, Feeding, Fuck Or Die, Like, M/M, Pre-Canon, Unrequited Crush, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vampires, but - Freeform, john gets turned, not quite, oh boy, pleasure or die, situationally dubious consent, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 04:46:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17379842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwennolmarie/pseuds/gwennolmarie
Summary: “Is there a mark?” John asks hoarsely.Arthur frowns, comes closes.Gently lifts John’s hair back and only gets a glimpse before the younger is scrambling back.“What?” Arthur asks.“I can hear it, your heartbeat,” John says.In absolute awe.Terrified of the infinity he’s been doomed to.





	If Things Were Different

“Is he really a vampire?” John asks, peering at the pale man they have tied to a fence post.

“Don’t seem like he’s lyin’,” Arthur shrugs.

Gently tightens his grip on John’s shoulder to keep the barely-an-adult from getting too close.

John shrugs him off.

“So you gonna tell us where Dutch’s money is?” John settles his hand on the grip of his pistol.

“Hah,” The vampire laughs and coos at John, “Come a little closer, Child, I’ll tell you.”

John rolls his eyes, takes a pointed step back.

“Curious if we should leave you and let the sun get you,” Arthur sneers.

Fairytales were his favorite way of Hosea teaching him to read.

“A myth,” The vampire sniffs and looks away.

“Sure,” Arthur reassures, “Well, we’ll come back at dawn then.”

He turns to John and jerks his head towards the horses.

They start to walk away.

He can hear the vampire struggling against the bonds.

“Ah! Fine! You win,” The monster cries, “Let me free.”

“Spill it, then,” John snarls.

The outlaws turn back towards the restrained man.

Monster.

“There is a cave, at the Northern base of the tallest mountain two miles West of here, it is in the back in a bag.”

Arthur hums, leans to one side.

“Now how we gonna prove this?”

“Take him with us?” John suggests.

Arthur glances at him, nods.

John moves to untie the man.

Arthur’s brain slips.

It stutters.

He can’t get the words out quick enough.

John leans over the vampire and the beast surges up, sinking needle-like fangs into John’s neck.

John gasps and grabs the fence.

Doesn’t pull away.

Arthur stumbles forward to yank him away and John breaks away like Arthur’s awaken him from a nightmare.

The younger man is clasping his neck and staring at the vampire.

“What did you _do_?” He rasps.

The vampire grins, bloody teeth and lips.

“You’ll only have ‘til sunrise to feed, and it _must_ be human blood,” The vampire sneers, “Or you’ll go feral. I’m sure this hunk will be the one to put you down.”

The creature jerks its head at Arthur.

John looks petrified.

“If I have to kill him, how do I do it?” Arthur asks hurriedly, tries to channel the fear he’s feeling into a desperate tone of voice.

“Decapitate him,” The vampire shrugs, “Or mostly destroy his brain. That’s where the disease festers.”

Arthur goes to Bo’ and retrieves his shotgun.

Turns around to see John backing away.

The younger looks seconds away from crying.

Arthur shoots the old vampire before the beast can even beg for its life.

Splatters brain over the white-wash.

John pauses as the body slumps.

“You thought I was gonna shoot ya?” Arthur grumbles and returns his shotgun to the scabbard.

“I don’t know, I don’t-” John pulls his hand away from his neck, looks at his palm.

There’s nothing on it.

“Is there a mark?” John asks hoarsely.

Arthur frowns, moves closer.

Gently lifts John’s hair back and only gets a glimpse before the younger is scrambling back.

“What?” Arthur asks.

“I can hear it, your heartbeat,” John says.

In absolute awe.

Terrified of the infinity he’s been doomed to.

Arthur tries to move closer again but John holds up a hand.

Rapidly shaking his head.

“There’s a mark,” Arthur mentions.

“Okay,” John sounds resigned.

“Okay,” Arthur echoes.

“Can we go back to camp?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea…” Arthur sighs, rubs his forehead.

“I wanna say goodbye,” John whispers.

Arthur’s hand jerks away from his face.

“Goodbye?” The older asks incredulously.

John nods.

Won’t meet his eyes.

Arthur can see him in the low light.

Trembling.

“ _Goodbye_?” Arthur reiterates.

“Wanna thank Dutch… an’ Hosea, for savin’ me.”

“You ain’t dyin’ tonight,” Arthur shakes his head firmly.

“You’re gonna let me go feral? Arthur, I don’t even know what that _means_!” John shouts, grips his own hair tight in two fists.

Stares wide-eyed at the mud.

Arthur hisses.

Gathers John in his arms and shoves him towards Old Boy.

“Get on,” The older man orders.

John glances at him, scared but curious, then heaves himself into the saddle.

Arthur swings himself onto Bo’ and leads them into the woods.

Deep.

Deep into the woods.

“What…” John doesn’t finish the question.

Arthur may not be able to hear the younger’s heartbeat but he sure-as-shit hears the clicking of John’s throat as the kid swallows hard.

“Goin’ somewhere quiet,” Arthur says.

“Okay.”

He sounds resigned again.

How quickly the _ferocity_ has faded in the younger…

It, more than this disastrous situation, settles dread in Arthur’s gut.

They make it to a little cavern.

A place where there used to be a river and it eroded the side of a cliff.

The water has been gone a long time, evidenced by the grass where the riverbed used to be.

Arthur comes here every once-in-awhile to draw.

“Get off and go sit under the overhang,” Arthur says.

John does as told.

Arthur ties up the horses, brings his lantern and shotgun with him to the overhang.

John eyes it the whole time.

“Plan?” The younger asks quietly.

“You’re gonna…” Arthur scrunches his nose up, “Bite me.”

“What?” John’s voice pitches higher in disbelief as Arthur settles on the grass next to him.

The older man looks stiff but determined.

“Ain’t lettin’ you die,” Arthur squints to the distance, where the sun will rise soon, “We don’t got a lotta time.”

“And you… Arthur, it didn’t...” John pushes his palms into his eyes.

“What?” The older asks impatiently.

He pulls out a cigarette and strikes a match on his heel.

Smokes.

“It didn’t hurt… I woulda pulled away, probably, had it hurt,” John mutters.

“What’d it feel like?”

“ _Good,_ ” John stresses the word.

Sounds like he’s gonna cry.

Arthur tenses.

Smokes.

Smokes.

Smokes.

Crushes the stub against the rocky cliffside behind him.

“Come ‘ere,” Arthur jerks his hand, gesturing John to close the distance between them.

“You don’t _like_ me,” John says.

Says it as though… even if he didn’t know anything else, he knew _this_.

“You’re a kid,” Arthur grumbles.

“Eighteen,” John argues.

“A decade my junior,” Arthur says firmly, “I ain’t considered you… like _that._ ”

“I don’t…” John finally pulls his hands away from his face.

Meets Arthur’s gaze earnestly.

“I don’t want you to feel the way I just felt,” John says, miserably.

“An’ how’s that?”

“ _Forced_ ,” John whispers.

Arthur swallows, looks back towards the horizon.

“It ain’t… I’m makin’ the decision here,” Arthur rubs the side of his neck, awkwardly, “S’a sticky situation.”

“Okay…” John says and immediately looks like he regrets agreeing.

“Come ‘ere,” Arthur repeats.

John crawls the small distance.

Hovers.

Arthur takes one of the younger’s hands in his own.

Squeezes reassuringly.

John is staring at the older man’s neck.

Arthur studies John.

Then tilts his head ever-so-slightly.

Exposing more of his throat.

John gasps, looks at his face frantically and tries to jerk away.

Arthur hushes him and gently pulls him back in.

“S’okay, Marston,” Arthur murmurs, “Yer okay.”

“What if I hurt you?” John blinks suddenly owlish eyes, “What if I turn you?”

“Call it a hunch,” Arthur mutters.

Grabs John’s other hand and stretches his legs straight out in front of himself before coaxing the younger into his lap.

John hesitantly sits on his thighs.

The kid has always been scrawny, only lately filling in.

Arthur tilts his head again, peering at John from the corners of his eyes.

John zeroes in on the older man’s neck.

Yanks one hand away suddenly to rub at his mouth.

Hisses and grimaces, draws his lips back to reveal needle-like fangs.

A bead of blood on his lower lip where he’d snagged the skin on one of the sharp points.

Arthur uses his newly freed hand to brush away the blood with his thumb and press the droplet against John’s now-closed lips.

John briefly makes a face of hesitant disgust.

Parts his lips.

Arthur gently smears the blood across the crackled rim of John’s lower lip.

John swallows hard.

Licks it away.

Arthur hushes him and moves the hand away from the younger’s face to wrap it around John’s hip.

Guides him closer, still.

John’s free hand goes to Arthur’s shoulder.

The crook of his neck.

Arthur leans his cheek against it.

Further exposing his neck.

“S’okay,” Arthur murmurs, “Go ‘head.”

John ducks his head for a moment then leans in.

Shaking.

Presses his lips as gently as possible to Arthur’s neck.

Pauses when the older man tenses.

Waits.

Arthur forces himself to relax.

Squeezes John’s hip.

It doesn’t feel the way he expects.

There’s a pinch, that he expected.

John said it felt good.

It’s hot.

Burning.

Burning.

Burning.

Arthur inhales sharply through his nose.

Holds his breath and feels gooseflesh pebble his arms.

The skin on his back crawls and he shudders through it.

Squeezes John’s hand as the fangs sink deeper.

Arthur’s back arches slightly and he shifts his legs under John.

The younger sits up to kneel.

Shuffles closer, hunching over Arthur.

Arthur feels him hesitate.

Feels it when John doesn’t know what to do next.

Then the fangs retract and John starts to suck at Arthur’s neck.

The veritable tap for Arthur’s life-force.

Arthur closes his eyes.

Slides his hand around John’s waist to press against the younger’s spine.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

His brain had been screaming at him.

All the danger, all his senses trying to warn him of the predator at hand.

Now they’re quiet.

Everything is quiet.

Just his own blood rushing in his ears and he wonders how it sounds to John.

Arthur’s hand clenches in the back of John’s shirt when he feels the heat forming in the pit of his belly.

Breathes out shakily.

John’s thumb rubs over his wrist and he almost opens his eyes just to roll them.

He’s seen John grow from a reckless brat to a rowdy but considerate adult.

Boisterous where Arthur is subdued.

A bigger heart lurking under the rough shell.

He feels John’s mouth move slightly up his neck.

The fangs pierce his skin again and he knows he makes a desperate sound.

Doesn’t quite have the sense at the moment to describe it.

‘A whine’ he’ll think, later, ‘An imploration’.

He moves his hand to, again, cup John’s hip.

Spreads his legs slightly.

Feels a righteous self-loathing at his reaction.

John needs him.

Needs.

Needs.

Needs.

This is for John.

This is to save the younger.

He opens his eyes.

Can see just past John’s shoulder.

The sun peeking through the trees.

“John,” Arthur murmurs, hoarse and low.

John pauses in making the second feeding-wound and makes a questioning sound.

“Sun,” Arthur rasps.

John pulls away.

Awkwardly hovers in front of the older man.

His face is flushed, eyes wild.

John glances down.

Arthur glances down.

The older man is hard.

He knew it but seeing it...

 _John_ seeing somehow makes it worse.

Arthur turns his head away.

Hears John swallow thickly for what seems like the hundredth time in the last two hours.

“‘S okay…” John says quietly.

“It really ain’t,” Arthur mutters.

“Alright,” John says.

He sounds sad.

Arthur glances back at the younger, brows furrowed.

John lets go of his hand and moves to sit beside Arthur.

Cross-legged and leaning over himself awkwardly.

“You…?” Arthur glances down, once, just to confirm, and then away.

To the gold and lilac of the dawn.

“It wasn’t… Felt kinda like smokin’... calmin’,” John says, stiffly.

“Then why are you…?” Arthur hesitates to ask.

“It was the noises you were makin’.”

And here, Arthur thought he’d only made the one.

“Sorry,” Arthur says roughly.

Rubs his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans.

“Don’t,” John says, a touch pleading, “Don’t take it back.”

“I ain’t doin’ _this_ , John.”

“I know! I know…” John buries his face in his hands, “Just don’t take that from me.”

“What?” Arthur regrets asking when John shies away slightly.

“The feelin’ of bein’ wanted.”

They sit in silence until the sun is above the tops of the pines.

John stands up.

Arthur stands up.

“Let’s just go,” John says, already heading for his horse.

“We’ll be fine, Marston. We’ll figure it out,” Arthur says.

Not sure who he’s trying to convince.

John gets into his saddle and peers down at Arthur from atop the big horse.

“I hope you’re right.”

\--

They get the money.

They go back to camp.

John keeps a bandana tied around his own neck.

Arthur, a scarf.

**Author's Note:**

> mm. yikes. i don't like. poor boys


End file.
